


among tides

by hiensou



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, both the middle school one and the high school one but mostly the former, inspired by the long posters of them on the floor, miiiild underage ig? they do a lil smth but yeah it's very tame so i dont think u have to worry lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiensou/pseuds/hiensou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think…” Haruka began, twisting a finger to scratch the underside of Makkou’s chin, “Do you think we’ll still be like this, in ten years?”<br/>“Hmm…” Makoto mimicked his action of petting Makkou, contentedness apparent in the dog’s features, despite his inability to smile, “I hope so.”<br/>“I think so,” said Haruka briskly, “The way it feels right now, I really think so.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	among tides

The voice of Makoto’s mother reverberated throughout the house as he hurriedly shoved various items into his backpack, knowing that no matter how much he ransacked his bedroom, something would inevitably be forgotten.

“Coming!” he shouted back, looking around the room one last time before hauling a stack of video games in there as well. Haruka had a lot of his own, but he rarely wanted to play them. They had been given to him as presents and, according to him, couldn’t ever measure up to the likes of Makoto’s many ocean-themed games. Makoto may or may not have bought those with Haruka in mind.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder as he raced down the stairs, exhilaration for the night to come propelling him forward. He grabbed at the frame of the door opening leading into the kitchen, turning along the length of his arm into a halt.

His mother was pressing a lid onto a plastic box, waiting for the clicks before looking back at Makoto, smiling in a way that drew him into the room.

“There were a lot of cookies left after the meeting at your father’s job, so he brought some home. I figured you might want them.”

“Really?” Makoto beamed, fingers longer than the average and slightly unsteady as he held them out, eager to accept the gift even as he questioned, “What about Ren and Ran?”

His mother’s eyes were mere slits of green as she strained her lips with endearment. “They’ve already had a few, but I don’t want them to eat too many.”

Makoto’s elation grew as he realised the weight of the little box, his mother dropping it in his palms completely. There must have been enough cookies to feed every alien in all of outer space for a year, Makoto was sure. “Too many, you say…”

His mother laughed heartily. “Same goes for you, Mr. Sweet Tooth. I figured you’d probably want to share them with Haruka, that’s why there are so many. That boy barely puts any sugar in his mouth at all.”

“He’s more into fish.” Makoto mused quietly, inspecting the treats through the blurry transparent of the plastic. “I’ll make sure not to eat them all myself though,” he laughed—a mildly altered echo of his mother’s, “Thank you! Tell dad thanks as well.”

Mrs. Tachibana nodded once, patting his cheek gingerly. “Go on then. Before the twins come home.”

Makoto nodded as well, bidding her goodbye hastily as he slid his shoes on—laces untied before he’d even made it out the door, what with his careless knots—and set off toward the house separated from his own by a flight of stairs.

Haruka’s front door was unlocked, which was unusual, and Makoto smirked to himself at the knowledge that Haruka had done it especially for him. This probably meant he was not in the bath—as would result in the opposite—but neither as close at hand as the kitchen or the living room. Makoto’s first thought after kicking his shoes off and excusing himself absent-mindedly was to look in the backyard, which proved a winner choice.

Haruka was seated on the wooden porch, back against the door frame and one leg propped up. Makkou was a sluggish lump of black fur by his other leg, stretched out along the floor boards. Beside Haruka lay a small plate of watermelon slices, and as Makoto stepped out onto the porch as well, he saw Haruka crumble to the pleading stare his dog threw at him, holding a slice out for Makkou to taste.

“Hi Haru, hi Makkou,” Makoto greeted as he put his backpack down and lowered himself to his knees.

“Hey,” Haruka said, glancing up only briefly before averting his attention back to the pet beside him. Makkou seemed unimpressed by the watermelon, giving up after a few licks of sky-high expectations to lay his head back down on Haruka’s thigh. “Makkou says hello too.” he informed.

“Ah,” Makoto said, reaching a hand out to caress the fur down Makkou’s back. “He looks tired.”

“We are,” Haruka replied quietly, throwing Makkou’s unfinished slice into one of the bushes behind the house and picking up a new that he offered to Makoto. The brunet took it with a minute incline of his head. “We’ve been playing up until now.”

“Aw, I missed it?”

“If you hadn’t taken so long, you could have joined.” Haruka shrugged.

There was a laugh at Makoto’s end. “That’s okay. I’m more disappointed in not getting to see Haru-chan play, though.”

Haruka directed a pout his way, grasping Makoto’s wrist to force the watermelon in between his lips. Makoto giggled around the juicy fruit. “What’s with that…” muttered Haruka. His cheeks were already matching the melon slices, and Makoto hadn’t even been there for five minutes. He thought it ought to be a personal record.

“I like seeing Haru-chan with Makkou, _that’s_ that.” Now it was Makoto’s time to shrug. The dog seemed to make Haruka immensely happy, and nothing made Makoto happy like Haruka being happy. Although, teasing Haruka was a close second. “Oh! By the way,” Makoto reached out to his backpack, pulling the box of cookies out of it with one hand, melon juice dripping down his other one. “Mom sent cookies.”

“Tell her thank you from me.” Haruka said, but made no attempt at taking them from Makoto’s hand.

“Mm, I will.” He popped the lid open skilfully, still munching on his slice, and lifted a cookie in exchange for the treat Haruka had given him.

A little hesitantly, but not quite unwillingly, Haruka took the sweet in between his fingers and had a bite, stroking his other hand along the white patterns on Makkou’s body. “They’re nice,” he said, “Did auntie make them?”

“I don’t think so,” said Makoto, “They’re from dad’s office, so I’m guessing they’re store-bought.”

“They’re good for being store-bought.” Haruka nodded a bit.

“I’m glad you think so.” Makoto grinned, tossing the leftover green of the melon slice into the bushes and popping a cookie into his mouth. 

* * *

 

Eventually, the evening declined down a chillier slope, taking sunshine with it and bleeding into early night. It chased the boys inside, dog and sweets in tow, and Haruka made them both tea which they took with them to his room where the PS was already set up on the TV he had temporarily snatched from his parents’ room. Since they had left the house he had been free to do so whenever he wanted (it wasn’t like Nana ever cared, after all), but the instances he practiced this opportunity were scarce; exclusive for when Makoto came over with his sea creature racing and underwater city builder games.

“You forgot this at my place last week,” Makoto fished a magazine out of his bag, flipping through it as Haruka started the first game of many that was on their nightly agenda.

“Oh,” Haruka said, reading the title of the magazine through the corner of his eye, “I never finished that.”

Makoto tilted his head to the side a bit as he inspected the magazine. “It’s not a manga,” he concluded, passing photo after photo of paintings he only half-recognised. In addition, the text surrounding the images were in an unfamiliar language, preventing Makoto from really comprehending much at all of the contents of the pages.

“It’s my mother’s,” Haruka clarified, “But it’s in English, so I can’t read it…”

“It might be good practice,” Makoto dropped the magazine on Haruka’s night stand, leaning back against the side of the bed. “We’re both really bad at English, after all.” he released a sheepish laugh, and saw the end of Haruka’s lips twitch with him.

“I mostly just look at the pictures.” said the other boy, selecting the two player mode and pressing the start button.

“Your mom is really good at English, right?”

“Mm. Dad is not.”

Makoto chuckled with his light voice, picking up the second controller. “So it’s genetic.”

Haruka bumped his elbow into Makoto’s side. The brunet feigned offense at the gesture.

“Hey now, I’m just as bad as you are!”

“You’re worse.”

“Am not!” Makoto bumped back.

Instead of launching another elbow counter-attack, Haruka dipped his head to the side, knocking it together with Makoto’s in a way that did not hurt, but conveyed the ‘Am too’ that went unsaid. In retaliation, Makoto cocked his own, bumping Haruka’s shoulder with his forehead. The miniscule aversion of his focus earned him a second place in the race on screen, after having been first for most of the lap. There were still many to go, however, and he glued his eyes to the screen, competitiveness swelling like a balloon inside of him.

Haruka did not progress their war right away—or at all, actually—instead waiting a minute or so before laying his head down on Makoto’s shoulder, his more humble height allowing him to do so without straining his neck or distorting his vision of the TV.

There was warmth in Makoto’s chest.

“You tired, Haru-chan?”

Haruka murmured his affirmative.

“You want to sleep early tonight?”

A few beats passed. Makoto was once again in the lead, his orange shell of a car far in front of Haruka’s sea horse. “Dunno.”

After another twenty minutes, Haruka’s competitiveness had flourished enough to make him sit more rigidly and even bounce up and down a little bit in fervour, only to sink again, until he opened the menu and set the game to single player mode, handing the primary controller to Makoto. Wordlessly, he reached for the art magazine and slid to the floor, legs thrown over Makoto’s own as the brunet played on by himself.

This was one of the things they both cherished an unfathomable amount; their ability to be separate and together both at once. Their ability to do what each felt like doing, without any sort of chasm between them. It was comfortable, reassuring, like the two of them in general, like still water contra the constantly moving tide that was life around them.

After beating the computer opponents a handful of times, Makoto paused the game and lay down beside Haruka. He exhaled heavily as he flopped down onto the floor, peeking at the abstract art that had Haruka so captivated.

Makoto retrieved the cookies from his bag once again, setting it on the floor a short distance from their heads. He watched Haruka flip through the pages in silence for a while, chewing his cookie with self-restraint, the memory of the promise to his mother vividly resounding inside of him.

After finishing his sweet, he reached for another, but realised that while he had eaten five in total that evening, Haruka had still only had one. This would not do, he firmly noted to himself, and held out the cookie for Haruka instead.

Haruka’s head tilted to the side, eyes flicking from the offer to the benevolent smile splitting Makoto’s cheeks. Obligingly, Haruka opened his mouth, allowing Makoto to feed him so that he wouldn’t have to put his magazine down.

Makoto’s fingertips brushed against Haruka’s lips, and his head felt a little jumbled, as if his sight—and most other senses—malfunctioned for a brief second.

There were crumbs on Haruka’s cheek, and as he went to wipe them away for him, a pink little tongue darted out to do the same, accidentally nudging Makoto’s index finger. This time, his head short-circuited entirely, but swung back into action soon enough. What made matters worse was the immovable eye-contact he had with Haruka and, always the icing on the cake, Makoto’s wonderment at these strange physical reactions.

Haruka was cute. Really, really cute. More so than the girls he knew. More so than Zaki. More so than Makkou, even, and humans were rarely more endearing than pets, from his experience. Then again, also as per experience, nothing was ever really more endearing than Haruka.

“Haru-chan,” Makoto began timidly, shuffling his body closer to Haruka’s, as if seeking safety whilst his mind treaded these unfamiliar planes, “Do you think we’ll ever be more than best friends?”

Haruka let the magazine rest over his belly, staring calmly at Makoto in wait of further elaboration.

“Dad once talked to me about how I would start to think of girls differently, but after he had left, mom said it wasn’t as much of a rule as he made it sound like, and that if I started thinking of you differently, that was fine too.”

“Really?” was Haruka’s contribution.

“Mm,” Makoto reached for another cookie, “I thought it was weird that she pointed you out specifically, but then Kisumi said something that was kind of similar, so I don’t think it was just her.”

“What do you mean?” Haruka inquired, eyes darting upward to the cookie box as well. After a little contemplation, he opted to take another one, too.

“At first he said that we were like brothers, but then he said it was like something more than that. It confused me a little back then, but I think I agree with him. Do you think we’ll become more than that?”

Haruka shook his head with an imperturbable certainty. Surely, he had pondered this subject before, and knew already what his opinion was. Makoto on the other hand had found it too fragile a thing to mull over, but there was momentum, and the train of thoughts came to him involuntarily, the question of “more” its leading locomotive.

“Not more, Makoto, just else. Something else.”

The brunet wasn’t sure he got it, but nonetheless he replied with a soft, “Okay.”

“I don’t think there is anything more, as in bigger,” Haruka said, clasping Makoto’s hand in the cookie-free one of his own. “I couldn’t like Makoto any more than I already do, I think.”

Makoto’s lips twitched, before blossoming into an uncontrollable grin. “That’s so unlike Haru to say.”

Haruka blinked once, offering no snarky retort transparently veiling his embarrassment, as Makoto had expected. Instead, it looked like he was pondering Makoto’s comment for a while, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Makoto’s hand was warm in Haruka’s, almost edging on sweaty, but it was okay. Makoto’s palm was large, his fingers lanky like his body, and it was more familiar to Haruka than his actual family. He could never love Makoto more than this, but there was a notion within him, a whisper of a future shift in their dynamics and their view of each other. However, right now, it was simple. Haruka valued that simplicity. He valued Makoto’s almost-sticky palm flush against his own, no colossal questions or any ambiguousness attached to it. He valued watching Makoto’s eyelids set like the sun as the clock struck ten, and he valued the simple knowledge that Makoto was not tired, only tranquil, just like he valued the easy way it made him smile to himself.

“Did you know, I was once told a person didn’t understand why I hang out with you so much, because they thought Haru seemed boring,” Makoto reminisced with an incredulous chuckle punctuating his sentence, “I didn’t know what to tell them, it was so bizarre.”

Haruka didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what to say to such a thing. The comment didn’t hurt him nor surprise him, though curious it was.

“It’s kind of like asking why someone would go to sleep, since ‘sleep is boring’, don’t you think?”

Haruka was wondering how this was at all relevant.

“Or why I swim when I can play basketball. It’s really silly.”

“Is it?” Haruka questioned, if only to force perspective on Makoto, make him clarify further.

“Well, yeah,” he snorted, “Basketball is fun too, but Haru isn’t there.”

There was warmth in Haruka’s chest.

“And sleeping isn’t fun, I guess, but if I stayed awake all night, that’d really mess me up.”

There was a dryness in Haruka’s mouth. He realised they had forgotten about their tea. Two bottles empty of water stood on the floor by the cookie box, matching green and blue, one of which belonged to Haru and had been left at Makoto’s place and returned, just like the magazine. Haruka figured Makoto must have thought about refilling them or something, as he had brought his own out as well.

“Although maybe that’s a bad metaphor… Haru-chan is fun, after all. At least I think so. I was late today because I spent so much time fussing over what to bring. That’s how excited I was. It’s always like that, you know?”

“Yeah.” Haruka agreed. Simply, easily.

They were quiet then, listening to the tip-tap of Makkou’s paws against the stairs as he made his way toward Haruka’s bedroom. Once inside, he hurried over to sniff the cookies, but evidently deemed them unworthy, as he pattered onward without having a taste. He walked around Haruka’s body, coming up in between them and lying down, head upon the boys’ clasped hands. They both laughed, Makoto’s a soft giggle; Haruka’s a drawn-out exhale.

“Do you think…” Haruka then began, twisting a finger to scratch the underside of Makkou’s chin, “Do you think we’ll still be like this, in ten years?”

“Hmm…” Makoto mimicked his action of petting Makkou, contentedness apparent in the dog’s features, despite his inability to smile, “I hope so.”

“I think so,” said Haruka briskly, “The way it feels right now, I really think so.”

“Yeah…” Makoto murmured, reaching his free hand up to brush another crumb from Haruka’s face. “Me too.” 

* * *

 

Haruka awoke at five in the morning, the cold of lying on the floor without a duvet trembling his consciousness back to him. His fingers were still woven together with Makoto’s, but Makkou was no longer blanketing them with his fur.

He sat up, slipping his hand out of the brunet’s grasp, and noted to himself how stiff his neck was from the hard ground.

“Makoto,” he whispered, before realising there was no reason to keep his voice hushed. Raising it to normal speaking voice—which, honestly, wasn’t all that intruding either—he called out to his friend once more, shaking his shoulder for added effect.

The brunet began to stir, wiping at his eyes with his knuckles. “What time is it?” he croaked.

Haruka glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s ten past five.”

There was a groan of pure agony. “Why would you wake me up at five, Haru?!”

“We fell asleep on the floor. Come on, let’s move.”

Makoto huffed indignantly and rolled over, semi-awake still and completely set on staying where he was. Haruka rolled his eyes, Makoto’s morning-stubbornness not in the least alien to him.

“Doesn’t your neck hurt?” Haruka asked, rubbing at his own.

Makoto curved his spine experimentally, releasing a sigh. “Kinda.”

“If you move to the bed, I’ll massage it for you.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.” Haruka confirmed, patting Makoto’s shoulder-blade in a pathetic attempt at consoling his early hour bitterness. Straddling the small of his back, Haruka began kneading at his shoulders, feeling himself become more and more alert for every minute that passed. By now, he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep.

“I had a nice dream.” Haruka mused, wanting to keep his friend awake as well.

“Mm.” was all Makoto offered.

“I dreamt that we were on a trip with our families, and Ren wanted to eat blueberries, so I went out to collect some for him.”

“That’s nice, Haru-chan…” Makoto droned on quietly, noncommittally.

“But I didn’t find any blueberries. Instead, I found a little bridge, and on the end of it was a perfectly round lake, surrounded by pine-trees. I spent the rest of the dream swimming in it.”

Makoto didn’t answer this time. Haruka pressed a thumb down harshly into his neck, making him startle back to life.

“The water was really warm. I remember thinking I should take you there sometime. You were still sitting with our parents and the twins, though, and I didn’t want to leave the water to go get you.”

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever talked at once, Haru-chan.” Makoto said with a smirk in his tone. Haruka pressed down nearly violently against a knot in the curve of his neck, making him yelp that smirk right off.

“What did you dream?” Haruka demanded sourly.

“I don’t remem—” Makoto began, before lifting his head off the floor and begging, “Please don’t hurt my neck again.”

Haruka smiled soundlessly, shifting his position a little bit. Makoto stiffened beneath him, erasing Haruka’s smile.

“Makoto?” he tried quizzically, voice careful and curious.

“I…” Makoto propped himself up on his elbows, “I think my neck’s fine now… Um. Thanks, Haru.”

Haruka blinked once, twice, before lying down beside him instead. Makoto quickly lay on his side, back toward Haruka. The latter was immediately intent on unravelling this sudden eccentricity, and snaked his arms around Makoto’s middle.

“Let’s go to bed then,” Haruka bid him curtly. Makoto writhed subtly in his arms, which was enough evidence the other needed to know something wasn’t right. He sat up, glaring daggers (if daggers of worry wasn’t a thing before, it was now) at the brunet. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What?” Makoto spluttered unnaturally.

“You never, ever squirm at physical contact. Ever. You practically light up like a flashlight whenever I initiate it.”

“Haru…!” Makoto’s hands slid up to cover his face, but the flush of humiliation tinted the shell of his ear as well, rendering his indiscreet concealment unsuccessful. “I’m just… ha-having… a little problem… a-at the moment…”

Haruka’s eyes fleeted to the side, as if he would find an explanation to that somewhere in the room.

Makoto must have sensed his perplexity, as he continued soon after. “You remember how we talked about, um, inappropriate… um.”

“Oh.” Haruka breathed out, relieved at first that it wasn’t actual disgust at being touched by him, or anything of the like, and then taken aback at the realisation of what he was implying. “ _Oh_.”

“I’m sorry!” Makoto whined into his palms, body curling in on itself.

Haruka shook his head. “Don’t. That’s. I mean, we did call them inappropriate. So. They’re. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Makoto mirrored, hands slowly peeling themselves off his scorching face. Haruka fiddled his shirt in between his fingers, unsure if he should offer some sort of help or just ignore it until it went away. Eventually, Makoto glanced up at him, cautiousness cast over his usually glowing greens. “I, ah… I should probably go and… Fix it, I suppose.”

Haruka cringed somewhat, inexplicably, and blurted out before he could even decide on it, “I’ll help you.”

Makoto didn’t look as mortified as Haruka felt at those words. “You will?” was all he needed to know, and Haruka nodded without a second thought.

It was weird.

But then, was anything really weird when it was them?

Haruka wasn’t sure.

“I’ve heard that it’s better when someone else does it,” Makoto sat up against the bed, “Or well, I mean, _obviously_. But like… _Infinitely_ better, I think was how they worded it.”

Haruka nodded again, slowly, as if struggling to understand. Acting on gut instinct, he scooted closer to the other boy, who was now sitting with his back against the side of the bed, and took his hand once more. Haruka swallowed thickly, but it wasn’t fear that lumped in his throat. When Makoto offered a bashful smile, one that said, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” warmth was back in Haruka’s chest, and he leaned in to peck the corner of Makoto’s mouth coyly.

“Mm…” Makoto hummed, closing his eyes like he’d seen them do on the movies, or behind the school when they didn’t count on Makoto and Haruka spotting them on their way to the pool. As soon as Haruka’s lips grazed his skin, however, they were gone again, and he hesitated to open his eyes.

Keeping them closed was enough prompting the shorter boy needed, as he dove in again, kissing Makoto more fully, the brunet’s upper lip in between both of his own. It wasn’t fireworks in his ears or drums in his chest like some people described it; it was tranquillity in his mind and pleasant numbness in his perception of anything that wasn’t their direct _now_. Of anything that wasn’t Makoto.

He tried a third time, and a fourth, setting a pace that they could melt together with and mould into something of their own. It never stopped being curious; it never stopped being enticing. He forgot about the problem at hand (or _would_ be _at hand_ ) and kissed Makoto for several minutes, but there was an eagerness in the latter’s reciprocity that assured Haruka once he caught his own forgetfulness that Makoto was not dismayed.

Haruka opened his eyes to make sure he ushered his own hand in the right direction, palming Makoto’s crotch through his pants with unsure pressure. Makoto squirmed again, but moved a little closer, and gasped against Haruka’s mouth.

He fondled for a while, dizzy from the heat of his own face, before Makoto bit down softly on his bottom lip, released again with a shaky breath, and planted his forehead against Haruka’s clavicle. Instantly, Haruka understood that this would be all Makoto needed, and he was torn between wanting to explore more and being relieved by the innocence of the length they’d gone. This did not feel much worse than what he did to himself. As he had worded it, it was nothing but solving a problem. The only difference was the kissing—the sensation of total bliss pooling in his gut and spinning his senses in circles until he felt utterly disoriented. He wondered if Makoto felt the same way, and if he enjoyed it as much as Haruka did.

A hand clasped Haruka’s bicep harshly, and then a second did his waist. Makoto’s rough, desperate touch made the raven-haired boy feel oddly special. He felt important—no, he felt absolutely vital, and it was the newest thing he had felt all night.

When Makoto came, he tore Haruka’s hand away by wrapping said boy’s arm around himself, to which Haruka complied without a second thought. He held Makoto as close as he could, taking in the scent of his hair, and sinking to the floor with him as all the bones in Makoto’s body seemed to melt like chocolate in the summer.

“Sorry, Haru-chan,” Makoto whispered into the slope of Haruka’s neck, more delightfulness than guilt to his voice. Haruka’s fingertips travelled up and down the knobs of his spine absent-mindedly, and he nodded against Makoto’s hair. It was strange, suddenly feeling taller than Makoto, even though he knew it was only because of their lying positions. Makoto had been the taller of the two for the past few years, and the way things were looking right now, he’d continue to be so for quite a while—if not forever. Haruka wasn’t sure what he felt about the matter.

“You should be,” he muttered in reply, “We’re still on the floor.”

“Ah, yeah, that,” Makoto gave a little eskimo kiss to Haruka’s shoulder. “I’m too tired to move…”

_Well_ , thought Haruka, _what’s a little soreness in the neck, anyway_.

* * *

On the floor of Makoto’s bedroom, said boy was enraptured in his own story, leaning his head on his hand as he lay facing Haruka. The latter held a pillow close to his body, almost like a shield over the butterflies trapped in his stomach, and he listened half-heartedly to what Makoto had to say, more concentrated on their close proximity and the many variations of emerald in Makoto’s irises, than on his words.

Eventually, the brunet’s voice trailed off, and he smiled at Haruka affectionately, a faint sigh escaping him.

“Too bad I didn’t have any cookies for you this time, huh, Haru?”

Haruka blinked at him a handful of times before making the connection. “Bad for you, maybe.”

Makoto let out an ebullient laugh, one that rattled Haruka’s composure completely. Haruka allowed a vague smile to graze his features. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve had enough sugar for a week after two of them,” he raised his eyebrows, “You, on the other hand, could’ve probably finished that box all by yourself.”

“I practically did,” Makoto’s eyes squinted from his smile, and Haruka brought the pillow closer to his face.

The planes of Makoto’s face smoothed out, his gaze drifting downward and up again, sharing memories with Haruka without either of them uttering another word. Haruka discarded the pillow and sat upright, lean fingers fanning over Makoto’s cheek. He then straddled the other, worrying his bottom lip in between his teeth as a pair of firm palms rested on his outer thighs.

Haruka dipped forward, kissing Makoto a lot slower than when they had been younger, movements profound and precise rather than exploring with urgency. He felt Makoto exhale against him, and while they hadn’t actually kissed like this since middle school (he wasn’t sure if spin the bottle kisses and impulsive, unmentioned pecks when alone in the locker room counted), it was as familiar and soothing as slipping into the welcoming opening his hands would carve in the water surface. Like Makoto’s exhale just now; release. Like a rising tide pulling back to settle into a slow, rocking motion. Like a necessity. Like anticipation. Like a groan followed by an elated “Finally.” Like them, like usual, like something that never stopped being curious; never stopped being enticing.

Haruka ran his hands through Makoto’s hair, dishevelling it carelessly, and kissed him a little harder.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had a serious writer's block for 2+ months and suddenly middle schoolers makoharu are feeding each other on the floor and i write this in one sitting thanksssss based mh animedia gods (and thank u shinx for beta'ing as usual <3)


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